St Andrew's Asylum for the Mentally Unstable
by scytheFungus
Summary: Asylumstuck, sadstuck. A boy wakes up in an asylum with almost no memory of his past. A girls has visions of horrific creatures that dwell in the darkness, but no one else can see. A boy who doesn't seem to belong in a mental hospital avoids telling anyone why he's there. A girl is raised by a dog on a deserted island and is found years later, feral and dangerous.
1. Chapter 1

A young man once stood in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the thirteenth of April, is this young mans birthday. But he hasn't been in that old bedroom for at least three years. Today he finds himself in a new room, one made of cold steel and concrete, and he hates it.

You can't remember your name. Before today, everyone had called you by some name, a name you think you actually liked, but you just can't put your finger on what it was. Maybe you should name yourself. John... you've always liked the name John. John Egbert. You once had a common last name, and you thought it was atrocious. Egbert has more... zing if you will.

You are slowly becoming aware of your surroundings, and they scare you. You are in what looks like a jail cell, except maybe the slightest bit cleaner. You are wearing scrubs, which concerns you because you don't remember putting them on and the thought of a stranger dressing you makes you very uncomfortable.

"You're new here," a voice sounds from across the hall. You peer through the small window in the door to see a girl looking back at you with slightly blood-shot, lavender eyes.

"New to where?"

"To the asylum. This is where they keep all the nut jobs." Her sloppily painted black lips slowly curl into a smile.

"Well then I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm perfectly sane."

"Apparently not everyone thinks so." She hesitates for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to speak. "I would be careful if I were you."

"Um... careful how?"

"Careful of the horror-terrors. They're dangerous you know. And they seem to like you in particular." She stares at the empty space behind you. "There's one right in the corner over there."

You slowly turn around and look in the corner. "There's nothing there."

She breaks out into laughter. "Of course not. They can't be seen by the eyes of an outsider like yourself. Come to think of it, they can mostly only be seen by me."

"Right... I'm sorry what's your name again?"

"Rose. And your name is John Egbert, right?"

"H-how did you know that?"

She giggles. "You really shouldn't mumble so loudly to yourself. It's a bad habit to get into."

"Oh. Well actually I-"

"Shush!" She cuts you off abruptly. "I can hear a nurse coming. They find my so called 'antics' frustrating and prefer me to not speak with the other patients. So let the record show that this conversation never happened." With that she retreats into her cell.

Rose's alleged nurse doesn't arrive for a good two minutes. She proceeds to unlock both of your doors and tell you that you are being let out for fresh air. You decide to stay with Rose, because while she scares you, she is not a complete stranger. When you get to the courtyard, she immediately bolts towards a mangy-looking black haired girl with thick glasses. To your surprise, the girl gets on her back and Rose starts scratching her belly.

"Who's this?" you ask, cautiously taking a step forward.

"Oh that's right. New guy. Well, this is Jade. She was raised by hounds, so she comes across as a bit... feral."

As if on cue, Jade rolls back onto all fours and starts growling at you.

"Jade," Rose says sternly, "This is John. He is a _friend._ Understand? _Friend."_

Jade continues growling as take a few steps back.

"Now Jade, what don't we do to friends?"

She recoils slightly and gives Rose an unsure smile.

"That's right. We don't bite friends."

You take a couple more steps backwards, just to be sure, and end up bumping into someone.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't see you there," you say, turning around to see your own reflection in a pair of mirrored aviators.

"Nah, it's cool bro. Name's Strider. Dave Strider."

"I'm John. Egbert. Egbert John."

"Yeah nice try there."

"Strider is one of our more interesting cases here," Rose chirped.

"You'll shut up about my case if you know what's good for you, Lalonde."

Jade giggled and plopped herself down by Dave's leg as her scratched behind her ears.

"You said this place was an asylum, right? As in, an insane asylum?" you ask nervously.

"St. Andrew's Asylum for the Mentally Unstable to be specific," Rose says.

"How do you not know you're in an asylum, bro?"

"I don't know. I'm just not sure of anything," you admit.

"Well next time you try and make up a name for yourself, I would try something other than Egbert," Rose snickers

"Oh my god you actually made that up?" Dave says, failing at keeping a straight face.

"But really. If you can't remember your own name, you might have a reason for being here," Rose said, all of a sudden turning solemn.

"Right, but you're a mental patient, not a therapist, and I don't want to talk to you about it."

Just as you are finishing, a bell rings out, signaling the end of your recreational time.

Rose frowns." It seems as if our rec time is getting shorter and shorter. This won't do, oh no. The horror-terrors can't stand the sun. The more sun the better. Very troubling..."

You sit in your cell, trying to recall... well your entire life basically. You know today is your birthday, the calendar in the hall said April 13th. But you don't know how old you are. You had a father... a good one too, if you remember correctly. But he's gone now. You can just tell. Maybe you killed him, maybe that's why you're in here. But that doesn't sound right either. Your head begins to hurt as you start seeing faint images of blood. The images fill you with uncertainty, with such a sinister feeling that you started praying for them to stop, or maybe to see something a bit clearer...

"Oh would you shut up already," Rose snapped at you. "If God answered prayers I wouldn't be here. Save your breath."  
You stop mumbling and lay down, staring at the ceiling, watching insects crawling in and out of cracks in the plaster. The last thing you remember before drifting off is that Rose seems familiar... in fact so do Jade and Dave.

* * *

You wake up to find Rose looming over your bed. You jump as you realize that she broke out of her cell and _she __is standing over your bed._

"What the fuck are you doing?" you shout, causing Rose to recoil.

"Shhhhhh they'll hear you," she says frantically. "I need to talk to you."

You sigh. "What is it?"

"How have you been feeling?"

"What?"

"Answer the question, John. How are you feeling?"

"Umm... okay I guess, given my certain situation."

"And what is that?"

"I'm in an asylum."

"And is that why you came to see me?"

"I didn't come to see you."

"Then get the hell out of my office!"

"Rose stop playing therapist I'm not sure you're cut out for the position."

"I'm just asking a few questions."

"Rose get out of my cell."

"Well you're no fun." She pauses and looks into the corner, at what you suspect is one of her horror-terrors. "No shut up I am not doing that. Because I don't want to. No he's nice I would never do that to him. Just shut up and leave me alone!" She stands up and bolts out of your cell.

You sigh and roll onto your side. You still have no idea what you're doing here. You still have very little knowledge of anything. If you concentrate hard enough, you can remember playing a video game, you think maybe some lame world building game. The memory is so vague and it seems so unimportant, however, that you push it to the side. Instead, you try and focus on your father. He died years ago, that much you seem certain of now. You wouldn't have dreamed of killing him. It must have been something else, maybe a heart attack? That seems like the most logical assumption at the moment.

You still can't shake the fact that Rose, Dave, and Jade all seem too familiar. You think you would remember people like them. Wait... maybe you do. Yes, you can see it now. Your body is mangled on the ground, and Rose is nearby. Except it's not exactly her. She's engulfed in strange, black flame and speaks in tongues. You try to push this to the side, too. It must have been a dream you had last night or something. You try to focus on something else, but images of dead, bloodied bodies keep appearing in your mind, some of them not even human. You worry that you are actually insane, or a serial killer. Probably both. You hug your knees to your chest as images and uncertainties flash through your mind and you slowly fall back asleep. You think you can see a golden city somewhere in your dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is Rose Lalonde. Unlike the crackpot in the cell across from yours, you know why you're here. It's because people are close-minded. They can't cope with the idea that there actually are monsters out there; demonic creatures that only show themselves to a select few. They call you schizophrenic, lock you up in institutions, put you through therapy, because it's easier to do than cope with the truth. People sicken you. Why, then, are you always trying to save them?

You can remember mere glimpses of your youth. Back then people just thought you had an over-active imagination. You still tried relentlessly to warn them, your mother especially. But she was the first to go, when you were just thirteen. Everyone thought you killed her. The neighbors found her dead on the lawn with a knitting needle lodged in her heart. True, you were the one who put it there, but in essence it wasn't _you_ who actually killed her.

It was the first time you had given in to their horrid whispers, and you were more than just ashamed in yourself. You were _afraid._ But they strapped you down to a hospital bed and prodded you with needles. They had no sympathy. No one deserved that, not even a so-called "killer" like yourself. The horror-terrors didn't even have to tell you to attack that nurse. You realize now that you were being irrational, you shouldn't have tried to kill her. Luckily enough she got away, but you will say you wish she would have gotten a bit bloodier. Anyway they locked you up in a couple different places before you got here. At the time you were about sixteen, mean, and callused as hell.

It was really Jade who made you stop hating humans quite so much. Rather ironic, really, since she's the least human person you've ever met. You still remember the day they first brought her in here. She fought like a warrior- no, a wolf. She tried to rip her straight jacket off with her teeth, she lashed and kicked and struggled, but they still got her into her cell. That was the first time you had shed a tear for another human being in over three years. She was stuck here, just like you, just like all the other poor, misunderstood souls in this asylum. You did your best to befriend her, all it really took was a bit of obedience training and letting her lick your face. Such a sweet girl...

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of teeth on your neck.  
You jump. "Kanaya! You scared me."  
Kanaya slowly draws away and gives you a pleasant smile. "Hello Rose. Sleep well?"  
"I didn't sleep."  
She frowns at you. "Again?" Kanaya is extremely motherly. For a while you had no idea what she was doing here, until one night you woke up to find your arm bleeding and Kanaya cautiously licking it up. That had you really freaked out a bit, so you decided to sneak into the file room and read her medical records. She had basically sliced open her girlfriend and drank an alarming amount of her blood, letting her slowly die. They later diagnosed her with hematolagnia, the feeling of sexual thrill from consuming blood. You actually found quite a few interesting things while snooping through those files, in fact now you make sure to check them weekly for more compelling patients.

Kanaya begins playing with a lock of your blonde hair. "You really should get some more rest."  
"I will in due time. For now there are more important things to worry about."  
"Such as that new patient?"  
"His position is so compelling, yet I can't go snooping through his records because I don't know his real name."  
"Troublesome indeed..." she trails off as she begins caressing your neck.  
You brush her hand aside. "Kanaya you may not drink my blood. I need it."  
"You don't need all of it. Besides, _it'll be fun."_  
You kiss her gently on the cheek. "That doesn't sound too fun to me."  
She frowns. "You are lucky I care about you so much."  
"I know."  
She stands up to leave, but you grab her arm. "Stay here a little longer. The halls are crawling with horror-terrors this morning."  
She gives you a look of pity mixed with care and concern. "Okay, honey." She sits down and wraps her arms around you.

"Rose?" John's voice comes from across the hall.  
"What is it?"  
"I think I just remembered something."  
Your face lights up. "Really? That's great, what is it?"  
"I had a grandmother once, but she's dead now. I think it was my fault."  
"Oh, John that's wonderful!"  
"No it's not, Rose. I killed my grandmother."  
"Well you know what they say, the past is in the past. The important thing is that we may be getting somewhere with your case. Why did you do it, John? Did you want her inheritance?"  
"I... I don't think so... I'm not even sure I did it on purpose."  
You frown. "Interesting... very interesting... perhaps you were sent into trauma. You didn't do it on purpose, but that usually doesn't stop you from feeling guilt beyond compare."  
"Yeah, maybe. I just wish I could remember more."  
"Just focus on the important stuff. Potentially troubling events, history of anxiety or depression, et cetera." You laugh. "Oh, John this is just too much fun. You really are quite the puzzle."  
"Um... thanks?"  
"Almost as much of a puzzle as Strider was. Oh, I would like nothing more to tell you what goes on in that little head of his, but doctor-patient confidentiality is all to important with him."  
"You told me," Kanaya says.  
"But you're different."  
"Wait, who's in there with you?" John asks, coming across as a bit frantic.  
"Nevermind her. You have important work to do, John. Dare I say crucial work, even."  
"R-right. Okay, see ya then."  
Kanaya kisses you on the top of your head. "You are such a good therapist."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so glad to hear that everyone's liking this story so far. It really does warm the heart. ^w^ This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I'm trying to upload as much as possible while I still have this much free time on my hands. I won't be able to update that regularly from now on, but I'll try to post at least a chapter a week to keep you all on your toes. Also, thank you everyone for all the positive reviews, you guys are the best!**

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider and you hate your life. The doctors all think you're a complete basket case, and nothing you do can convince anyone that you don't belong here. You like to think that you could have had a future before they put you in here, that maybe you could've crawled out of the pit that you've been stuck in since you were born. But the floor and walls are all made of quicksand, and the harder you struggle to pull yourself back up the deeper you get buried. You are currently up to your neck in life's shitty metaphorical quicksand and it's all kinds of uncomfortable.

"Dave? Are you alright? You're just staring into space," John says, interrupting your damaged cool guy self pity session. God dammit John this is why we can't have nice things.  
"I'm fine."  
"Right. So you're sure you're not going to tell me why you're here?"  
"I would, but chicks really dig a bit of mystery."  
"You're kidding."  
"Not this time, Egbert."  
He rolls his eyes. "So... what does it take to get out of here?"  
"You have to convince a shit ton of psychologists that you're not a danger to yourself and others. Same thing it takes to get out of any asylum."  
"Have you been in more than one."  
"Well, to be honest I've had my fair share of... 'episodes' if you will. So yeah, I've been moving from place to place for while. But listen, if you think you're gonna get out of here by just by acting real level-headed and kissing a few asses. That works most places, but not here."  
"What's so different about here?"  
You shrug. "Most people who are admitted to St. Andrew's die here. Last person to be let out was some guy named Scratch in the 50's. They say he had to drug the doctors to get them to sign the paperwork."  
"Scratch..."  
You give him an odd look. "Yeah, Scratch."  
"I've heard that name before," he says. "A long time ago..."  
"Okay now you're just freaking me out."  
"Sorry. It's just a pain in the ass to not remember anything."  
"Yes, I would imagine so," Rose chirps from behind you. You have no idea how long she's been standing there. "Dave, I need to talk to you in private." She pulls you to the side.

"What is it?"  
"There's been a development."  
"With what? My case?"  
"Yes. Apparently you haven't had an episode in over a year."  
"I know. How is this news?"  
"They're considering relocating you."  
You stare at her in disbelief. "As in, to another institution?"  
"Yes. Something a bit less... uptight if you will."  
You usually try hard to contain your emotions, but today you can't help but smile and hug Rose. "I'm one step closer to becoming a functional member of society."

_I knew I didn't belong here,_ you think to yourself as you flop onto your cot. Things are finally looking up for you. Man, if only Bro could see you now. If only Jack could see you now... then maybe he would quit laughing at you. Wait a minute. No, no, no, you are _not _hearing the laughter again. It's been over a year, you were supposed to be happy. The laughing had stopped, he had gotten out of your head. You aren't supposed to belong here anymore. You start banging on the door frantically.  
"Why are you people all so loud?" Rose says, appearing out of thin air and picking the lock on your door.  
"Oh thank god. Rose, the laughter's back."  
"What? Are you sure?"  
"Do I look unsure to you?" you snap loudly, causing Rose to cower slightly.  
"Take a deep breath, Dave. It can't hurt you if you don't let it."  
"Make it stop! He's mocking me, he's mocking Bro, why won't he just die already?"  
"He is dead, Dave."  
"Then why won't he get the fuck out of my head?" You can feel your breath getting shorter and choppier.  
"You're hyperventilating. That's it, I'm getting a doctor in here."  
She is gone before you can protest. Just a minute later a full medical team arrives at your cell and takes you away to the infirmary.

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are a failure. Dave was your patient and you never suspected a thing. Like you said, it had been over a year since Dave stopped having auditory illusions, you thought he was finally in a stable condition. You are currently kneeled down beside his bed with Jade and John, and Dave is asleep. It took an alarming amount of morphine to get him to calm down.  
"I really thought he was ready to be normal again," you say.  
Jade whimpers and rests her chin in your lap.  
"I still don't understand," John says. "What happened to him?"  
"I can only tell you that he had a breakdown."  
"He doesn't come across as the kind of person who has breakdowns."  
You smile a bit. "No, he doesn't. He tries hard to cover it up. He thinks that if he denies his mental state, all his problems will vanish."  
"Well let's just hope that when he wakes up he'll be back to his normal self again."  
You sigh. "Yeah, that would be nice. But somehow I doubt that's how it's going to happen."  
Jade paws at your lap and looks up at you with her big puppy-dog eyes. She whispers something, scraggily and rough, just barely audible. "Dave..."


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is now Jade Harley. The author has been conflicted as to whether or not she should let you narrate the story, but you assured her that you can handle the responsibility. You were actually a bit annoyed to hear that she had been doubting your abilities. Come to think of it, it's not terribly uncommon for people to underestimate you. Apparently dogs cannot properly raise human beings, but here you are, safe and sound. True, there are many things that humans do that you are unable to understand, like common manners and verbal communication, but those aren't important. And besides, you would much rather wallow in your own filth and communicate through a series of barks and growls.

You now realize that you have been drooling on Rose's lap, and you quickly close your mouth. People don't usually appreciate it when you drool on them.  
Rose continues to scratch your head, unaware of the saliva puddle now on her person.  
You wish you could tell her that you're sorry she's so sad. You wish you could ask her what happened to Dave, and why he's just lying there. Is he dead?  
"We should get some sleep, Jade," she says, moving your head off her lap. You're not positive what she's saying, but you recognize your name and the word "sleep." You are rather, tired, come to think of it.

You wake up the next morning to a guard unlocking your door. Today is the one day a week that they let you out of your cell for more than a couple hours. Usually this would excite you, however by now you have learned that where they are taking you is not a happy place. The guard tries to put you into a straight jacket, so you bite him. It takes three guards and a nurse to finally wrestle your arms into the horrid thing, then drag you halfway across the asylum to the therapy ward. Of course, you have no idea what a therapy ward is, you just know it's where they try to force you to learn. You don't want to learn human things, because quite simply you don't want to be human. They're up-tight, they force you into straight jackets, force you to become more like that. You want nothing to do with their languages and customs, their stupid rules and utter bull shit ideals.

The staff wrestles you into a room. It is empty except for a large screen on the far wall, which begins displaying seemingly random images. From somewhere in the corner, a speaker blasts a woman's voice. You can't understand what she's saying, and you don't want to. You squeeze your eyes shut and start screaming, you don't want to see what's on the screen, you don't want to hear that woman's voice. You wrestle frantically with your straight jacket, you kick your feet in the air, you bite your own lip until it starts bleeding, but no one comes to let you out.

After a while, your voice goes hoarse, your legs give out, and the blood on your lip clots. You can no longer remember how you got here, or why you are here, (to be honest you never really understood that in the first place,) but you want out. You are no longer quite as defiant as you are scared. Why won't that woman shut up already? Why won't they let you out? You just want to leave, you don't understand why they're forcing you to do this. All you want is to be back with your friends, back with Rose and Dave, even that John guy. You find yourself slowly relaxing, making no effort to fight off the information, but at the same time feeling no desire to learn.

Eventually, a couple of guards appear in the doorway and escort you back to your cell. You make no attempt to fight them off, though you do growl slightly underneath your breath. A few minutes later Rose picks the lock to your cell and slips inside, accompanied by John. She sits down beside you and runs her fingers through your hair.  
"How you holdin' up?" she asks.  
You bury your head into her shoulder in response.  
John cautiously sits down on your other side and pats you on the arm. "It's okay, you're safe now. Rose, uh, told me what they put you through."  
You remain silent. The three of you stay like that well into the night, until you finally fall asleep.

* * *

Dave is awake again by rec time the next morning, but he no longer seems himself. He barely talks, and his lips are always pursed, as if he is concentrating hard on something. He doesn't scratch you on the head like he usually does, which concerns you greatly. You sit down by his legs and whimper a bit, trying to ask him what's wrong, but he doesn't move.  
Rose comes over and pats you on the head. "C'mon, Jade. Dave needs some time to himself right now." She takes you by the wrist and leads you away.

You don't know why Dave is acting like this. You don't know why Rose insists you leave him alone. But you do understand that he's not himself, and that scares you. All you want is for Dave to be happy again. Wait, no, that's not right. You want Rose to be happy again too, to be her old, cheerful, if a bit psychotic self. You want John to stop being so stressed out with remembering things. You just want the four of you to be happy, and maybe run free in some green pastures or roll around in some mud puddles while you're at it. But there's something keeping you from happiness, something that seems far greater than just a little something that went screwy in all of your heads.


	5. Chapter 5

Your name is John Egbert, and you remember the smell and taste of bleach. You remember a burning sensation as it ran down your throat, you remember coughing up blood. There are traces of self-loathing, of suicidal thoughts and pure sorrow, but you have no idea what stemmed them. Rose nods as you explain this to her.  
"Yes, I do believe your case is slowly coming together."  
You wait for her to continue, but after a while it seems that she has no intent to do so. "So... what do you think is going on?"  
"Oh. I assumed it was obvious."  
"Not really."  
She shrugs. "You ingested enough bleach to cause brain damage, mostly isolated to the hippocampus. Yet somehow it wasn't enough to kill you..."  
You stare at her blankly. "But... why would a drink bleach?"  
"That part I don't know. I would assume it was a suicide attempt, but while your memory is still in this state we have no way of telling."  
You sigh. "I'm tired of trying to remember things. It's all just so fuzzy."  
"I know it's difficult John but you have to keep trying. It's of the utmost importance."  
"Yeah, but you see I don't get why-"  
"Sssshhhh sh sh shush," Rose cuts you off. She stares intensely at the back wall of your cell for a good five minutes, nodding every now and then.

"Um, Rose?" you say after a while.  
She holds up a finger, then slowly lowers it. "Okay they're done talking now. Sorry about that."  
"The horror-terrors? But I thought you hated them."  
"True, they are extremely troublesome, but every once in a while they give out good advice."  
You shift uncomfortably. Rose's constant belief in the monsters inside her own head tends to scare you. "Okay... well what did they say?"  
"They said that I should kill you. That you're more trouble than you're worth."  
You can't bring yourself to do anything than just sit there, petrified.  
She smiles. "In case you were wondering, that was not one of those instances when their advice was actually worth listening to."  
You feel yourself relax a bit, but only slightly. Somehow you can imagine being attacked by her, and also losing the fight. She has pretty impressive muscle tone for a therapist. Crap. You mean for a mental patient.  
Rose stands up to leave. "You just keep trying to remember things, okay?"  
You nod slightly, still a bit dumbfounded. "Yeah, I'll uh, tell you if anything significant comes up."  
She gives you a thumbs up and strolls out of your cell.  
You sigh and lay back down on your cot. You are sick and tired of trying to remember things. Come to think of it, you are just tired in general. despite your greatest force of will, you begin to drift off.

Your dreams are shrouded once again with bleach, blood, and depression. The few happy moments are of you and your dad, although his face is blurred and all you can really make out is a very prominent nose. One scene in particular keeps replaying itself over and over again in your dream. Your father is gone, you don't know where he is, but he left you a note. Not the kind of note that says "I went to the store for milk be back in a few," but rather a strange and unexpected one. It says that he's proud of you, of the man you've become. After that point there are no more traces of your dad, and that saddens you a bit. He seems rather nice. More visions of that golden city are coming back to you, but they are faint, almost as if they're of a past life. When you wake up you will treat them as simple dreams, works of fiction written in flighty keystrokes by your unconscience mind.

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and contrary to what you keep telling yourself there are bigger problems than John's memory or Dave's mental breakdown to worry about. You really should be more concerned with your own mental well-being, as you nearly thought about killing Egbert earlier today. Of course you have no intention to now, not after you've had time to breathe and regain your grip. Nextime you may not be so lucky. It only takes a second, just one little fluke in your will, for someone to die. No matter how hard you try you cannot blind yourself to their disfigured, tentacled bodies, you cannot block your ears from their harsh whispers, the whispers that wish everyone close to you dead. You have tried to be strong up until now, to not give into the darkness, but you are weary, and you cannot support this weight forever.

To be honest Kanaya has been your rock through all of this. She has calmed you down, whispered reassuring words that overpower those that come at you from the abyss. She knows what it's like to give into your worst instincts, and at the moment she is holding you in her arms and telling you that everything will be okay.  
_"No," _you think to yourself, _"Everything will not be okay. I just nearly killed a man."  
_"You are stronger than they are," she whispers softly into your ear.  
"I can't be strong forever," you mumble.  
"Fine. Then I'll be strong for you." She kisses you gently on the head.  
"I can't give you problems that only exist in my head."  
"Then at least let me help you fight them," she insists.  
"Oh, Kanaya. You do that already. If it weren't for your support, you and everyone around you would be dead by now."

* * *

**I'm afraid progress on this story has been gradually slowing, due to the fact that I find myself becoming burdened with everday tasks and general busyness. Is busyness even a word? Oh well, I'm using it. Anyway, the only chance I really get to write is in the evenings and on the weekends, and because I can't stay up until the middle of the night on weekdays (that's when my creative juices flow best) there might be a couple days' wait between each new chapter. (I know I said a week last time, but now I'm thinking that I can get a bit more work done than previously expected if I buckle down and type during those weekday evenings.) Thanks for listening to my rant, as well as my stories! Love you all ^w^**


	6. Chapter Not Quite Six Yet

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have never hated yourself more than you do in this moment. You have always hated yourself, you are a loathsome person in general, but now it's been taken to a whole new level. Your best friend just killed someone, and it's all your fault.

At first you couldn't believe it. You were in utter denial. Hell, you're still in utter denial. Gamzee was the absolute last person you would expect to do something like that. He was a harmless stoner, that one guy who you knew would never amount to anything, but at the same time would never hurt anyone. Who would have known that all that marijuana was covering up, what would be exposed when the house funds were low and you had to cut him off. At first he had argued, but it didn't take long for him to give in and stop buying the stuff. Of course, you suppose you don't really need to keep him cut off now that you have two less mouths to feed.

"Hey Motherfucker." You suddenly realize that Gamzee is behind you, smiling a toothy smile.  
"W-what did you do to them?" you ask, trying to mask your anger with him.  
"Don't worry about that."  
"You _killed _them."  
He grins wider. "I had been ignoring my motherfuckin' calling."  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"  
"I had been living in IGNORANCE. But you took that drug away from me. That _foul _drug."  
"Gamzee, listen to me. This isn't you."  
"Oh, but it is. I'm afraid you just don't know me well enough to realize that."

There is a pounding at the door, and you hear Gamzee swear under his breath. He walks over to the door and opens it, revealing a pair of police officers.  
"Sir, we've been getting reports of-"  
"Hey just so you motherfuckin' pigs know, there's a couple dead bodies in there, so don't get freaked out of anything," Gamzee cuts him off.  
Before you know it, the two of you are being hauled away under suspicion of murder. _"I deserve this,"_ you think to yourself. _"I'm just as guilty as him..."  
_

A couple weeks pass, new evidence arrives, and you are let free. Gamzee is transported to a mental hospital, though what exactly for you don't know. You tried to find out from the doctors, from the police, from someone, but they all say the same thing. Gamzee's condition is private information, and since you are not a member of his immediate family they can't reveal it too you. You do manage to visit him in the county prison before he is transported to the mental facility. For some reason he is on the verge of tears.  
"Karbro..."  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you cut him off abruptly. Then you realize that this may come across as a bit aggressive due to the swearing. You just want to know what has gone wrong in his head, and if there's anything you can do to help.  
"I don't know... it's like the motherfuckin' voices in my head miraculously got too far into my think pan and..."  
"Wait, voices? What voices?"  
He looks at you as if you're the crazy one. "You mean you don't hear them?"  
"No, Gamzee. Normal people don't hear voices in their head."  
"Well shit. That's probably why they're all up in takin' me to a mental ward then. Wait, you're sure you can't hear a tiny voice in your head? Y'know, like your own voice... but not really _you_ you."  
"No, fuckass, I do not hear _any _weird voices in my head, and neither should you. Now, did the doctors give a name to your weird-ass voice disease?"  
"They said I have split personalities or some shit like that."  
You swear you can feel your organs drop ten feet. You've seen enough TV to know what multiple personality disorder is, and what it can make you do. And now your best friend has it... no, your best friend has always had it, he had just been trying to fight it. You feel like such an ass.


	7. Chapter 6

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you still can't believe that little voice in your head turned into something so monstrous.  
"Yours is a very interesting case, Mr. Makara," the doctor begins attempting to explain your condition to you. "It seems that the two sides of your conscience, moral and immoral, are completely split. While one is being used as the dominant conscience, or personality if you will, the other one is left almost entirely unused. In your case, the moral, or good personality was more frequently used, however..."  
You are no longer paying the slightest bit of attention to the doctor's long, monotone words. Instead you find yourself wondering what could have motivated you to do such a thing. Nepeta and Equius never hurt you, never hurt anyone. The two were practically harmless. All you can remember from that night is that the voice got louder and louder, until eventually it became your voice. Well, it had always had the same voice as you sound wise, but up until that night it had never slipped so far into your conscience. Up until that night, it had never escaped from your mouth, mainly because you had the marijuana to quiet it. Even now, you can feel it still growing louder and louder, in fact it is almost drowning out the long lecture of the psychologist.

Come to think of it, you had never thought it dangerous until this point. It is just a voice, it has no body. No, wait. It does have a body, and that body is yours. It has a mind it belongs to, too. Your mind. You now know that you have really always only been half a man, and for as long as you still have this disease you will never be whole. It's not even as if you can chose which conscience you want to be in control. It is more of a constant fight over dominance inside your own head, some battle of epic proportions, one between good and evil, the kind of stuff they have been writing into epics for centuries. You can't believe Karkat said you had a tiny brain.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and it's been about a month since you woke up in an asylum with no memory of your past. You are still far from figuring anything out about yourself. Rose is still struggling to fight the images and whispers inside her head. Dave still hasn't spoken since the incident, and you have no idea what's going on with him. Jade Still gets dragged off every week, only to come back bloodied, disheveled, and weakened. If your lives had been the slightest bit together by this point, then they are now falling slowly apart. You thought insane wards were supposed to help people, but now you feel there is no avoiding the fact that you will all most likely spend the rest of your lives in this place, trying and failing again and again to recover, to become normal.

It seems like every day another patient arrives, yet the courtyard never gets any more crowded during rec time. Every day you hear stories about how someone got ahold a hypodermic needle and killed other people, sometimes killed themselves. Every day another basket case is hauled off to the west wing for "therapy" or "testing" or whatever they tell you to cover up the truth. They do a sloppy job of hiding what really goes on there. Half the time if a patient goes down there, they don't go back. Every once and a while someone they kill will have friends. Friends who, blinded by rage, demand answers from the staff. They are usually gone within a week. The only way to stay safe is to keep your head down and not speak, not question, not notice. Rose makes the four of you repeat that phrase every day during rec time, though since Jade can't talk and Dave refuses to do so, it's just you and Rose chanting "don't speak, don't question, don't notice," over and over again like a couple of lunatics. Okay, maybe that's not proper phrasing, considering how you're in a mental hospital. Anyway, despite the fact that only two of the four of you can actually chant, and you get a lot of weird looks from guards while doing so, Rose keeps trying to make it a ritual. She wants nothing more than for you to be safe, despite the horrible acts of the asylum, despite the voices in her own head and her constant unsureness of her own mental health.

That's the strange thing about Rose, she knows that she is mentally unstable, literally just moments away from killing at any given time, yet somehow she is much more concerned with everyone else, with keeping them safe and sane while still finding a way to say "fuck you" to what she likes to call "the system." She gives constant therapy to you, Dave, and Jade, calls you "interesting specimens," likes to watch as you slowly rise and fall in and out of insanity, yet she somehow seems oblivious to the fact that this is exactly what she does, perhaps on an even grander scale. Maybe it's just that she's not concerned with herself, maybe it's that she just cares about you a lot more. There's just something that seems off about her, aside from the schizophrenia, aside from her crooked smile and wicked-sounding laugh.

You realize that she never asked to be insane. No one here did. She probably had aspirations which involved a career in mental health, visions of her future involving prestigious degrees hung on the wall of her office and huge couches where people could just pour out their heart and soul, all their problems and everything wrong with their lives. Actually, everyone in here had aspirations at one point. Aspirations that they can now never live up to, all thanks to some disease messing around with their brain. You are suddenly painfully aware that life isn't fair.


	8. Chapter 7

Your name is Dave Strider, and your brain keeps forcing you to relive a nightmare. You don't want to remember how Bro died, you don't want to be constantly reminded of the pain you felt that day. Egbert thinks that he has it bad not being able to remember his past, but to be honest you would give anything to be in his position. To be truly freed of all the pain of the past, to be able to live for now. Losing your memory is almost like getting a clean slate, something you desperately need right now. Rose has been trying to convince you that opening up to people will help to lift some of the grief off your chest, and that it's a much better alternative to drinking dangerous amounts of bleach and hoping it will give you severe brain damage. Maybe she's right, too. Since your most recent breakdown, the laughing hasn't gotten any quieter, and you have found yourself still unwilling to speak to anyone but Rose, and only when the two of you are alone.

"You're really starting to worry me, Dave," John says to you one day as you are waiting in line to get the slop that the asylum calls food.  
You inhale deeply, still unsure if you actually want to talk to him. "Rose says I need to tell someone what happened," you say. "You know, why I'm here. It's supposed to help with treating my case."  
John appears shocked. "You haven't talked to me in at least three weeks."  
"Four and a half, actually. But that's not important."  
"I wasn't even sure you _could _talk."  
"Well I can. And right now I need your help, so if you could just listen to me that would be great."  
"Right, sorry."  
You nod and reluctantly continue. "What I have is a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It makes me hear these weird auditory illusions. Mainly just really annoying laughter."  
There is an awkward pause, almost like he is waiting for you to continue. "Is that... _all _you're going to tell me?"  
You raise an eyebrow at him, which just barely makes it above the top of your aviators. "I'm not gonna give you your life story, if that's what you mean."  
"I don't want your life story, I just want to know at least a little bit more about your condition."  
"Hey it took all the effort I had to tell you that much. Consider yourself lucky."  
"Dave, I'm not sure this is what Rose had in mind when she told you to 'open up.'"  
You hesitate for a moment. Damn, you hate it when people actually have a point. "Fine," you sigh, "but you're only getting the abridged version of my fucking epic life story."  
"I thought I told you I don't want you life story."  
You ignore him. "My PTSD is traced back to the night I watched my older brother get stabbed. He was the only family I had left, and as much as I hate to admit it, you meant a lot to me. Everyone says I haven't been the same since. For a while I stopped eating, refused to leave the house. By the time someone finally found me, I was hearing this laughter inside my own head. I... I just knew it was the laughter of the man who had stabbed Bro, and I hate it. I hate it so much..."  
Egbert stares at you in what you assume is disbelief, and his silence makes you angry.  
"What? I thought I told you my past is fucking depressing, man."  
He just continues staring at you. "But... you're so normal..."  
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"  
"Nothing... just, I'm sorry."  
You give him a strange look. "Nah, man. What happened in the past is in the past." You laugh a bit. "Sometimes I have to remind myself of that."

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and you would rather relive a nightmare a thousand times than be left without memory of having ever dreamt. What Dave doesn't realize is that while there are bad memories that sure, it would be great to forget, it took you an entire lifetime to collect them. If you let go, you are letting go of the good times, too. You would never have chosen to forget, not at this point, not knowing the uncertainty that would lie ahead. Yet you did it anyway, you were oblivious to what you were leaving behind, oblivious to the hell you were about to enter. You wish you could go back in time and stop yourself, to somehow change what has already been done and to make it so that you still have your memories. You wish you could remember what your dad looked like, or your grandmother, or what your old house looked like. You can't remember the taste of anything except asylum mush, you can't remember what it feels like to sleep in a real bed. If you had the chance, you would never start over again, all the bad memories in the world couldn't convince you otherwise. Before you knew about this pain, you would have chosen differently. Hell, you _did _chose differently, and look where it's gotten you. You wish you never let go of your past, you wish you had never chosen to forget.

Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you just stopped trying to remember. If you just lived in the here and now, making new memories instead of trying to recover those that are probably long gone. If you were anywhere else but here, you might be fine with that. But a mental hospital is no place to make memories. These patients are not your childhood friends, the doctors are not your parents. The courtyard of an insane ward is not a playground, and the rats that scuttle along the floor are not childhood pets. Once lost, your memories can only be replaced with fickle imitations, as if every time you let go of the past it gets deluded and warped, until it is the fantasy of some mental patient trying to pick up the pieces of a life shattered beyond repair.


	9. Chapter 8

Your name is Gamzee Makara, though you are not the same Gamzee Makara that was narrating earlier. No, you're afraid he'll be out for a while. Good riddance, too, you don't know what had gotten into you, but you don't like it. You were so ignorant, so naïve. You were convinced that your violent impulses were nothing, that if you ignored them hard enough they would go away. You chuckle to yourself. Oh well, all of that is behind you now. No more fighting off your own self as if it were some intruder bent on harming you.

You arrived at this damn hospital yesterday, just as yours was becoming the dominant personality. Security was irritatingly tight. They took away all your weapons, even the tiny blade you had taped behind your ear and covered up with your long, shaggy hair. Now you'll have to get creative whenever you want to teach a motherfucker a lesson. You suppose you could always just use your fists, but that takes too long for your liking. Maybe if you could get your hands on a metal pipe...  
"You're new here, aren't you?" a voice interrupts your thoughts.  
You turn to see a young woman with short, blonde hair and a crooked smile. "Why yes I motherfuckin' am," you say, putting extra emphasis on the "motherfuckin'".  
"You must be Gamzee Makara. I'm Rose Lalonde. I read your files, and I must say I find your particular condition to be quite fascinating."  
"You know what I think would be fascinating? Seeing your brains splattered all over the motherfuckin' walls," you say, grinning.  
She doesn't appear to be the slightest bit concerned by this. "I see your immoral personality is currently in a position of dominance. I really should be going, as I believe it will be easier to talk to you once the moral conscience has regained control."  
She turns to walk away, but you grab her by the back of her collar. "Where do you think you're going?"  
She seems concerned, possibly even scared now. "If you would just um... let go then uh..."

"HEY YOU!" a voice sounds out from somewhere in the crowded yard. "JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH MY THERAPIST?"  
This catches you off guard, and you make the mistake of scanning the yard, trying to find the source of the voice. Something taps you on the shoulder, and you turn around to come face-to-face... no more like face-to forehead, with a blonde guy in aviator shades and a dorky-looking kid with black hair and glasses.  
"I hope you weren't planning to hurt her," the blonde one says.  
You grin wider. "And what if I was?"  
He is about to answer you when all of a sudden you are attacked, out of what seems like no where, by a mangy blur of black hair. You let go of Rose's collar and fall to the ground. The blur of black hair, which you can now tell is a ferocious girl, starts growling and you, scratching up your face and biting your arms. You manage to get your hands around her neck, and you are just seconds away from choking her to death when the guards finally come. It takes at least five of them holding back each of you to finally get you off each other. You smile as they drag you back to your cell. It's been a while since you've had a good fight. Still, if only those guards had come a few moments later...

* * *

Your name is Jade Harley, and you are absolutely furious. You are pacing around your cell on all fours, quietly growling and allowing your anger to grow. You can't believe that bastard was about to hurt Rose. No one else here, not any of the psychopaths, sociopaths, or other messed-up basket cases would have ever dreamed of hurting Rose. She has earned herself massive amounts of respect, in some cases boarder line care, from the patients here. You want desperately to escape and kill that son of a bitch.

While lost in your thoughts, you don't hear the door of your cell being opened, or see Rose literally slither in, trying to avoid attention from the guards, which had nearly doubled in number since the events of earlier.  
"Jade," she whispers, "How are you doing?"  
You immediately pull her into an awkward, stooped-over hug.  
"Rose..." you whisper hoarsely.  
"I'm just fine," she says quietly, patting you on the head. "Don't get too angry about this, okay? Anger never leads to anything good. I would know."  
You whimper quietly, in your feral, primitive way, wishing you could express how furious all of this actually made you, how much you're glad he never actually got the chance to lay a finger on her. Sometimes you wish you could actually understand everything, that you could maybe be on the same level as everyone else, instead of relying on such animal ideals. It didn't matter when the only humans you knew of were the ones who did you wrong, but now you have friends. Actual, human friends. They understand far from all your body language, and you understand far from all their words. You just want to tell Rose how glad you are that she's safe, but you can't get any words out of your mouth. So instead the two of you remain in silence, not speaking, but somehow you can tell both understanding. You have never felt like you belonged in the human world, but at the same time the animal world had always seemed like unfamiliar ground, even after you had been living in it for years. It's like you're stuck in limbo, some sort of lonely missing link to two ridiculous and nonsensical species.

* * *

**Hello, readers. I am at the moment split between two directions I would like to go with this story, and I really can't decide for myself which one would be better. So I am going to leave that up to you. Leave a review, or private message me, saying whether you would like for me to continue on the current sequence for a while, with only the characters that have already been introduced, or if you would like for me to take some time away from the main plot to introduce more characters. Eventually, they will join up with Gamzee, Kanaya, and the Betas, but it would still require straying from the central events for a while. I don't want to give too much away, but if the second option does win, it will most likely be more beta trolls introduced, possibly- and I do say possibly- an alpha kid. Thank you all for reading, and I anxiously await your feedback!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Well the results from last chapter's author note is in, and the majority of you wanted for me to introduce more characters. Keep in mind that this will only last 2-4 chapters, and I will not introduce all of them. There is still much I want to do with the major plot line before we get too involved with introducing new characters. Still, I am kind of glad you guys picked this option, it is after all great fun to stray away from the beaten path, even if it is the path that I myself am currently still in the process of beating and should probably get back to beating before it gets too overgrown. **

**Slight warning before I go: this chapter is VIOLENT. Not like the other chapters haven't been but still, this one is pretty bad. If you are sensitive to graphic imagery, ie blood, gore, and overall dead things, I would not suggest reading.  
**

**"But scytheFungus, I'm not squeamish! I am offened that you even suggested such a thing!"  
**

**I never suggested that _you _were squeamish. In fact I don't think that anyone is. There are just some people who might be disturbed by some of the content in this chapter, and I want to give them a proper warning. Okay? Okay.  
**

**Now that we've taken care of that, I present to you... *pounds a mediocre attempt at a drumroll on her laptop*... CHAPTER 9!  
**

* * *

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you have only ever done what is just. The fact that justice sometimes requires violence is just an unfortunate fact. You assumed this was common knowledge, but here you are, locked up in a mental institution just because you were bringing about proper judgment.

You were once a courtroom judge, a rather good one too. Your colleagues were all telling you that you were going places, that not everyone was lucky enough to get where you were especially considering that you were blind (which you still are) and extremely young... how old were you again? Nineteen? Law school had been a breeze, of course. Didn't even take you two years. Yes, nineteen sounds about right. Anyway, at that point you started getting... overconfident. You were convinced that you didn't need "sufficient evidence" to throw someone in prison. Most of the time you just read it in their face. And that instinct was never wrong. Actually, it was wrong once.

Some blue-collar, working class, average citizen had been found dead on his kitchen floor. You knew immediately that it had to be the wife. It was obvious that at the time he had been having an affair with one of his coworkers, and that was just enough to send little wifey into a killing spree. You had her locked up a mere fifty minutes into the trial. You went home satisfied with what was just another case to you at the time. But then you started thinking, _really _thinking about the evidence. He had been stabbed several times in the knee before the final blow was delivered to the heart. The knife was also found angled upwards, as if the attacker was much shorter than him. That's when you realized, the wife was 5'10", the husband was only 5'7". A pang of guilt hit you, as you came to the realization that an innocent woman had been thrown in jail, and it was your fault.

The very next day you turned in your robes and resigned. No one knew why, and you weren't about to tell them. You were able to find a job teaching ten-year-olds, and although it was far from preferred, it was still work. Plus you got to use chalk all the time, which for some reason you have always loved. Then you got a transfer student, one who up until that point had been going to a private academy. Her name was Aradia Medigo, and she just so happened to be the daughter of the woman you had wrongly thrown in prison. For the first month or so you avoided interacting with her too much, you were feeling so consumed with guilt after taking her mother away.

Then the pieces of the puzzle started fitting together. Aradia would talk all the time about how she heard "the voices of the dead" and how her late grandmother always told her that she missed her son. That little girl told you that her grandmother and father were happy, and that she was glad they could finally be together. It creeped you about a bit. it just seemed like some cliché in a horror movie. Then you remembered the stab wounds in the knee, the slant of the knife found lodged in his chest. Aradia was only 4'5", she would have needed to attack his knee to get him to bend over, so she could lodge the knife in his chest. You feel a rush of cold run over you thinking about such a sweet and innocent-seeming girl killing her own father.

During recess, while all the children were outside, you had found some old rope in the janitor's closet and fashioned it into a pathetic-looking, rather rotten noose. You asked Aradia to stay late after class that evening, you told her you wanted to talk to her about her grades. You proceeded to grab her and wrestle it around her neck, as she cried for you to stop.  
"It's okay, sweetie. Don't you want to be with Daddy and Grandma?" you said, quickly pulling the rope. You watched her limbs flail around as she desperately tried to cling onto life. You watched as the color slowly left her face, and she went completely limp. It gave you a certain satisfaction that you hadn't felt since you stepped down from the bench. You smiled to yourself. The scale had finally been balanced, justice had been properly served.

Of course, they found out about your little trial, and had you locked away in this place. You really don't think it was necessary, like you said it was all in the name of justice. Sure, your methods of judgment may have become just a little harsh, but you still believe they are proper punishment. Perhaps even better punishment. When you killed Aradia, you literally felt a shift in the universe, as balance was restored, the guilty party finally given what she deserved. Some people just can't handle justice. It sickens you knowing that there are little girls that want to kill their fathers, and it sickens you perhaps even more that there are people who will lock you up just because you did what was right.

* * *

**Well there you have it, Aradia and Terezi are now part of the story! Stay tuned folks, more characters to come! As always, thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 10

**This is it guys. Chapter 10. I feel like this is a huge landmark for me, considering how I am prone to starting things and never finishing them. But this story. I will finish it, even if it means hurling myself into the sun chanting "gl'ackthgrd hurm'thergs bengl'migthsh" while spinning plates on my head. Though I sincerely hope it doesn't come down to that.**

**That being said, I'm afraid this will be the last chapter to follow along the "new character arc", as I have decided to call it. I wish I could take another ten chapters to just go really in-depth with the thoughts and mental states of everyone separately, however there is still the matter of having an unfinished major plotline, and I am already itching to get back to that.**

**To the guest who was wondering if Karkat and Gamzee are human: Yes, in fact all the trolls are human. It's just easier that way, considering I'm putting the into a human asylum and having them interact with humans. Sorry for not getting to that earlier, the site's been rather slow with loading reviews. :/**

** Also, huge thank you to cannibalisticReaper for suggesting Tavros' condition! Go check out their work!**

**Okay, I'll stop rambling now. Thank you all for putting up with me. **

* * *

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and no one ever believes you. It's really quite a shame, considering how you are obviously right. Betty Crocker is a Batterwitch with plans to enslave us all, and no psychiatrist can tell you otherwise. You are not delusional, you are not hysterical, you are not some basket case trying to get over the death of a loved one. If anything, you are a drunk with an active imagination. No wait that's not really helping you prove your point. Betty Crocker is out to get you, out to get everyone you love, in fact she's out to get the entire world. That sneaky bitch just keeps hiding behind her big red spoon pretending everything's just peachy, like all she cares about is bringing the public quick, simple, and delicious baked goods. But you know her game, and soon enough so will everyone else. You just have to wait until your blog gets a few more followers and then your army can launch the first attack on Betty Crocker.

There is a pounding at your door. "Roxy? You in there? You had better not be drinking again!"  
Oh shit, it's Jane. "Uh, one second," you yell, frantically swallowing the rest of your martini and putting the liquor bottles back in their hiding place.  
You open the door to greet a less than cheerful Jane. "I smell alcohol on your breath," she says, almost immediately.  
"Oh please Janey you always smell alcahal on my breath."  
"You just said alcahal."  
"Jeez little miss grammar Nazi over here."  
"Roxy Dr. Peterson told me you didn't come to your last appointment."  
"Oh yeah about that... you see the thing is I don't like therapy. So I decided I would stop going. No use in forcing myself to get better, am I right?"  
Jane begins to look even more concerned. "You're really starting to worry me."  
You shrug. "I don't see what there is to be worried about. You're perfectly fine."  
"But _you're _not."  
"You know what you're right. I am not perfectly fine."  
"Oh. Really?"  
"Yes. I am willing to admit that now."  
She smiles. "Oh Roxy that's..."  
"Actually I've never been better," you say, cutting her off. "I'm so close to figuring our the Batterwitch's next move. Here, I can show you, just come in."  
She reluctantly follows you inside, eyeing the vast amount of newspaper clippings, maps, magazine articles, and empty cake mix boxes that you have pinned to the wall. It's all a part of a very complex plan to uncover the plans of the Batterwitch.  
"Roxy... when's the last time you cleaned in here?" Jane says, looking around at the dust and garbage littering multiple surfaces.  
"Around the last time I slept," you say, opening a filing cabinet and leafing through the records.

"That's it." She grabs you by the wrist and drags you out to her car, shoving you in the passenger's seat.  
"Jane what are you doing? Jane let me go all my research is in the house!"  
"I know. That's why you'll be spending a while at my place."  
"But I'm so close! You can't do this!"  
"It's for your own good! You can't keep living like this, Roxy. Tomorrow I'm taking you to see Dr. Peterson."  
You groan. "Not Peterson." Of all the therapists you've been to, Dr. Peterson is by far the worst. He never even pretends to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth. And his attitude is so condescending. Though not quite to the extent of the Batterwitch.

* * *

"So Roxy, it seems you skipped out on our last appointment. Why is that?"  
You snarl at the evil psychiatrist sitting across from you. "I've been busy as all."  
He raises a eyebrow in doubt.  
"Plus you're a no good son of a bitch who's probably working for Betty Crocker."  
He furrows his brow. "Roxy, I know you think Betty Crocker is some kind of evil corporation, but-"  
"But nothing! You know the Batterwitch's plans just as well- no, _better _than I do!"  
"Please clam down."  
"Why should I? Just because one of her little minions told me to? I don't think so!" You spit on his freshly polished shoes.  
He writes something down on his clipboard. "Okay Roxy," he says, "I think we're done for today."

* * *

Your name is Jane Crocker, and you can't believe what you're hearing.  
"You want to WHAT?"  
"Miss Crocker, I know this might be a bit hard to digest-" Dr. Peterson begins.  
"You don't say? Doctor she's my best friend I'm not gonna let you lock her up like... like some kind of animal!"  
"It's for her own safety."  
"Bullshit. If you really try and reach out to her you'll see that she's not dangerous at all."  
"She is displaying all the signs of schizophrenia. It would be irresponsible of me to let her go without proper assistance."  
"Isn't there some kind of drug you could give her or something?"  
"Well, there is an experiment going on at the neuroscience lab of M.I.T., but even if we could get her on the waiting list she would never be selected due to the condition her body is in."  
"What's wrong with her body?"  
He sighs. "Alcohol is a terrible drug. Now if you'll excuse me I still have a number of appointments scheduled for today.

How are you going to break this to Roxy? All those years of therapy, going from doctor to doctor, all for nothing. No one had ever really given her a chance. They had never talked to her like she was a human, like she was an adult who was capable of understanding basic things. They always gave up on her so quickly, saying that they saw no chance of making progress, even though they had never even tried to reach out to her. Somehow you knew this was going to happen, that one of them would just send her to be locked away in some institution without a second thought. Maybe if she could have had just one competent therapist, maybe then she could have had a future.

* * *

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and your whole life everyone has always told you that there was nothing special about you. Of course, you always knew it wasn't true, yet somehow it still seemed to lower you self confidence. The worst part is that no one even let you try to prove yourself. Every time you tried to fly, they would pull you back from the ledge and lock the window. Every time you tried to communicate with dangerous animals, they pulled you away and made you stay indoors. How could they have known you can't fly? How could they have known you can't talk to poisonous snakes? They never gave you a chance.

You did manage to get away from them once. You managed to climb onto the roof and jump off, just to see if you could fly. Turns out you can't. You were paralyzed from the waist down and now you have to get around with a wheel chair. But at least you had the chance to try. Really the only downside you can see from the experience is that they started making you go to therapy, which on its own wasn't too bad. But now they're saying they're going to lock you up in a mental ward because you're "a danger to yourself and others". You don't believe that story for a second, you think that therapist was just trying to lower your self confidence by putting you somewhere where you can't try anything. She's just like all the others, who told you that you were ordinary, that you could never achieve anything spectacular, like flying. Yeah, okay, flying really didn't work, but they didn't know that. They just wanted to stop you from trying. Why do they keep trying to lower your confidence?


	12. Chapter 11

**Guys I am extremely excited about some of the ideas I've been having with this story. We are now transitioning back to the main plot, which means that some of the characters recently introduced will be meeting the betas. Gah, I'm so excited! I honestly wish I could make more progress during the week, but hey, what're you gonna do?**

**Shameless self promotion time: If you guys wanna check out more of my work, specifically non-fanfics, check me out on DeviantArt. My username is Slaughter-the-Mage**

**Do you guys like it when I talk to you like this? Sometimes I think I ramble too much. Okay I'll stop talking now.**

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you can't say you understand why everyone is so angry with the new patient all of a sudden.  
"I wanna snap the guy's neck," Dave says during on of your visits to his cell.  
"Please don't. And I thought I explained his condition to you."  
"Yeah yeah yeah, split personalities or whatever. It's still him."  
"It's _half _of him. He's only violent when his immoral conscience is in control."  
"That doesn't change the fact that he attacked you."  
"It really wasn't that much of an attack..."  
"Rose," Dave cuts you off. "You are my therapist."  
You wait for him to continue. "I am your therapist and..."  
"And I need you alive."  
"I seriously doubt I was in any mortal danger-"  
"Rose," he cuts you off again. "I don't think you understand. If it weren't for you I wouldn't be talking right now."  
"Yes I know. I am quite the miracle worker, aren't I?"  
"Yes. And it's not just me. Everyone here needs you a lot more than you think."  
You give him a puzzled look. "What makes you say that?"  
He lifts one of his eyebrows so it is just visible over his shades. "You are a much better therapist than half the doctors here."  
"Ah, yes. Well that would make sense, since mental health research is extremely underfunded by the state."  
"Yeah, but don't you find it kind of... I don't know... ironic?"  
"How so?"  
"Well you are legally insane. Yet somehow you are highly skilled at keeping people from going off the deep end."  
You shrug. "I just tell them what I would want to hear."

You pause for a moment to think about what you just said. You most definitely are crazy, there's no denying that. Maybe your craziness, the fact that it allows you to sympathize with these people, maybe that is what keeps everyone here from ripping each other's throats out. Come to think of it, their own, too. You have stumbled upon more than one case of severe depression. But the thing is you don't do it because you want to help people. You do it because it fascinates you. You find each mental disease you stumble upon more and more compelling, each one becomes darker and sadder and more heart-breaking, and you love it. It's like your own little TV show. Actually, no. It's more like a video game. You try your hand at curing them, at making them feel just the slightest bit more stable. You find yourself getting better and better at it the more you play, and you are ecstatic about trying to talk to Gamzee. You think it will be quite fun to try and get him to control his state of conscience, though indeed challenging. You have decided to consider this your first boss battle, and the more you are told to stay away from him, the more you want some first-hand experience with his particular case.

* * *

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you still cannot believe they put you in a mental hospital. You have tried and tried to convince them that you are _not _schizophrenic, that the Batterwitch's plans are all to real. But people nowadays are far too close-minded. It's a shame really. If everyone would just get their heads out of their asses and listen to what you have to say, maybe you all might have a chance to defeat her before she enslaves the entire human race.

Suddenly, your door opens and a very skinny blonde woman with black lipstick comes in.  
"Get away from me! I know who you really work for!" you say, mistaking her for a nurse at first.  
"What are you talking about? Haven't you the slightest memory of little old me?"  
That voice, it sounds familiar. And the black lipstick... could it really be... "Rose?"  
She smiles. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I haven't seen you since I was locked up."  
You immediately give her a huge bear hug.  
She grins. "So I heard they diagnosed you with schizophrenia. That's the same thing I have."  
"Please, they don't know what they're talking about. I am not schizophrenic."  
"Well that's most unfortunate. I take it they won't listen to what you say either?"  
You shake your head.  
"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. People tend to treat you completely differently once you've been put in one of these places."  
"That's the thing, no one ever believed me to begin with. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?"  
"I am painfully aware, actually."  
"And I can't even get anything to drink around here. When I get out, I'm gonna leave them such a bad review on Yelp..."  
"Roxy, you might want to cancel those plans. Once you're in here it's kind of for life."  
You make no effort in hiding your shock. "As in, until you die?"  
She nods.  
"Oh no. No no no this is not good."  
"What's not good?"  
"If I'm stuck here for the rest of my life, no one will be left who knows the truth about the Batterwitch. I was supposed to be the one to stop her. I-"  
"Roxy," Rose cuts you off, "Just let it be. They'll get what's coming to them for not heeding your warnings."  
"No, that's not how it was supposed to work. If only someone would listen to me..."  
She puts her hand on your shoulder. "I know it's hard, but you're just gonna have to leave them. You can't force them to listen."  
"I wish I could..." You have quickly learned some people just cannot be trusted with their own safety. Eventually, they will make the wrong call. And when they do, it means the end of their life.


	13. Chapter Not Quite Twelve Yet

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are unhappy with your current situation. As of the moment, all of your attention is being directed towards keeping your nutty older cousin from doing something she might regret. Granted, she is family, but you have found yourself having very little time for your other patients, and that is a bit concerning. Especially since you still have not had any truly first-hand experience with the Makara fellow, your first boss battle. You have decided to put that off for now and work on Roxy's case, however, because it is one you have been working with for a number of years, and this is the first you've been hearing of it since you were twelve.

"So what did you say it was again?" you ask her casually from across one of the cafeteria's rotting wooden tables.  
"Schizophrenia." Her voice has an uninterested tone to it.  
You nod. "Yes, that's what I supposedly have too. It seems to be a genetically transmitted disease, actually."  
She glares at you. "You might wanna check your facts, because I was misdiagnosed. I shouldn't be here."  
"Neither should I, but look where we are." You pause. "Um... your file said that your diagnoses was based off an infatuation with the Betty Crocker Company..."  
"Yeah, the same 'infatuation' that I've had since we were kids. Why all of a sudden they started calling me mentally diseased because of it I don't know."  
"You probably talked about it too much. That was my problem too. I just talked and talked about the horror-terrors, and one day they just said that I was too old to believe in monsters. Also that sane people don't stab their parents because a voice in their head told them to."  
"So you haven't gotten anyone to believe you?"  
You shake your head.  
"Well I believe you."  
"Thanks, Roxy."

To be honest you couldn't care less whether or not Roxy believes you. She's just another Schizophrenic lunatic, obsessed with something that isn't there. No, you don't believe her Batterwitch story for a second. It's just a stupid conspiracy theory that mental disease has caused her to take way too far. But if telling her that you believe her will give her any conciliation whatsoever, if lying to her will help you get closer to curing, at least stabilizing her, then you will gladly go along with this Batterwitch theory. To be honest, back when the psychiatrists and neurologists were still working with you, you would have much rather have them lie to you and say they believed than have them tell the truth and be offered no support in the matter. Why had they always been so literal with you? As if telling you that those things weren't real would automatically make them go away, as if brutal honesty was the one way they could pull you back to reality. That was the problem, actually. They were trying to reach under and pull you up, back to reality, where your subconscious didn't want to go. They should have been trying to coax you back up, you had to be willing to be sane again, willing to come to the surface yourself.

* * *

You name is Roxy Lalonde and you are quite sure that horror-terrors do not exist. You little cousin seems pretty insistent on their existence, however, and that's all you need to be able to lie and say that you believe in them. To you, the truth doesn't really matter when talking about these things. If Rose is happier knowing that someone believes her stories, then you will keep lying to her. Maybe if someone would have taken the time to lie to you, you wouldn't be here right now. Everyone had been trying to force you to think like a normal person again, when really all you needed was someone who you at least thought understood what it was like to believe in the Batterwitch. Jane had meant well, but she never had much tolerance for your theories. She was trying to make you look at things rationally, while you were trying to make her look at things in a way you thought was rational. You were both so stubborn and fixed in your ideas that you never got anywhere in your recovery, and you ended up here. You don't blame her for what happened to you, not in the slightest, but if this were to happen again you hope she would take the time to listen.


	14. Chapter 12

**I am SO sorry for not being consistant in my updating speeds. I try to post a chapter a day, each chapter being about a thousand words each. The thing is I haven't posted anything in a good four to five days, due to a slight panic attack from the Homestuck update, computer difficulties, and an episode of writer's block. Blargh. Anyways, I'm back now, my creative juices are once again pumping, so let's get this thing moving, shall we?**

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and whenever you try to look back it's like you're gazing into a life that you have long since moved on from. It's like some sort of irrelevant past life, one from which you learned nothing. Rose keeps telling you that if you try hard enough to remember, you will stumble upon all of life's secrets. Or that's how she makes it seem. But to be honest you can't see how uncovering the horrible secrets of your past will help your current situation. You are locked up in a mental hospital because of some condition you used to have, but now can't even remember the symptoms of. It's clear that you are perfectly stable now, so why are they keeping you here?

"Oh will you just stop it with that bullshit?" Rose says suddenly.  
You stare at her. "Was I really muttering to myself again?"  
"Please you're always muttering to yourself."  
"Oh."  
"But your muttering is beside the point. How naïve do you have to be to think that there's nothing wrong with you?"  
"Wow. Ok. I actually don't-"  
"Shush boy. You really can't read the signs, can you? The slight twitch in you left eye? The subtle yet definite shakiness of your hands and voice? You are clearly fucked up in the head."  
"Wait a minute. Just because I twitch or something doesn't mean I belong in a mental hospital."  
"Of course not. It goes deeper than that. You can read a lot about a person's subconscious thoughts based on simple body language. Then again, you can't learn everything, so get remembering."  
"But what's the point in remembering if those memories will clearly only cause pain? It seems a little counter-productive to my therapy."  
Rose flashes you a huge grin, the kind that makes you doubt a person's mental health. "Ah, but it's not just about that. It's part of a much bigger picture. Much bigger than you would be willing to comprehend at the moment."  
"Why do I get the feeling the horror-terrors told you this?" you say, trying to hide your uneasiness.  
"I can tell you're off-put by this. I'm not an idiot. But I've told you that they give good advice on occasion. In fact. they taught me everything I know about the human mind."

You let that last sentence sink in for a moment. Rose is the closest thing you have to a therapist in this entire place. And according to her she learned everything she knows from figments of her own schizophrenic imagination. She is far less mentally stable than yourself, yet you are letting her bore her way into you mind, so that she can do what? Cure you? You highly doubt she is capable of that. Still, maybe she can find a way to help you. She doesn't seem too concerned about actual people, more like her own amusement, but who cares about her motives as long as it helps get you out of this place? You'll take what you can get, and if what you can get is Rose Lalonde, a schizophrenic, borderline sociopathic asylum patient, so be it. Ironically, she's better at treating mental disease than any professional you have ever seen.

* * *

Your name is Sollux Captor and you had always assumed you mood swings to be normal. Well, not normal exactly, but definitely not something you had to be locked up in an asylum for. You have always just dealt with it, knowing that almost no one else has then, but never thinking they were dangerous. And the voices? Well, you never chose to be stuck with them. Really, you think they're what causes you to be so moody all the time. Sometimes they are so quiet you can barely understand their moans of pain and insistence on impending doom, but when they echo louder inside your head it just puts you in the wrong mindset.

What was the name they gave it again? Schizoaffective Disorder? Basically just schizophrenia coupled with bipolar disorder. Funny, you have never seen the voices as illusions. You still don't consider it to be schizophrenia, but you guess that's why they're moving you to a mental ward. They says people with mental diseases are always in denial of the fact that they have a problem. You know what? From here on out, you will no longer be in denial of your obvious need for medical attention. It's only for the better that they put you here, someplace where you can recover, maybe get better professional help. Once you're cured, you can go back to being a functional member of society, but until then you should just focus on recovering. Better to just go with it and get it over with than to fight off treatment and have all your problems get worse. Boy, those voices sure are quiet today, aren't they?


	15. Chapter 13

Your name is Jade Harley, and you're not sure why the guy in the mohawk has taken such a liking to you. Not that you're complaining, after all he does keep you company and scratch you behind your ears pretty often. The thing is he just... showed up one day, out of nowhere to your perspective. Of course, Rose already knows everything about him, because she's Rose, but you couldn't even begin to comprehend who he is or why he's here. Still, you are friendly towards him, in fact you are usually friendly towards everyone, unless they are a nurse or guard who pins you down and tries to stick needles in you.

The others seemed confused by his sudden appearance, and by your immediate friendship. You are confused by their confusion. Do they really need to know where he came from, or why you are suddenly such good friends with him? You honestly think they need to be more trusting. If you were capable of verbal communication, you would remind them that they all probably wouldn't still be here if they didn't trust each other. But alas, you cannot speak to them your feelings, so instead you stay close to mohawk guy whenever possible, to make your new and undying trust in him clear. Your friends seem fine with it. Either that or they are scared that if they try to pull you away from him, you'll go berserk, just like you did to clown man.

You once actually saw mohawk guy talking to clown man. They were both smiling and laughing, and mohawk guy appeared to be in no danger. Your first instinct when you saw them together was to attack clown man, because you didn't want mohawk guy to get hurt by him, as Rose almost was. But all of a sudden, clown man was acting... almost mellow. He showed no desire to hurt anyone, and this went against everything you thought you knew about him. You still joined them, however, just so you could protect mohawk guy if need be. If you were capable of verbal communication, you would have told clown man that if he laid one finger on mohawk guy, you would have his head on a platter. But you were never taught to speak, so you just sat and tried to puff yourself up real bug, growling under your breath.

* * *

Your name is Sollux Captor and you just realized how fucking horrible your current situation is. You have no idea why it took you so long to figure out that being sent to a mental hospital is serious business. Sometimes you are such an idiot. Hell, you're always an idiot. Take right now for example. All you're doing is laying on your cot, thinking about how badly your life sucks. You are such a worthless piece of garbage, what kind of an asshole only thinks about how much he hates himself.

_"There is no hope, the Earth is doomed," _a voice echoes through your head.  
"Oh will you jutht thut up for one thecond!" you shout, a bit louder than intended.  
_"Repent, that is the only thing left to do. Repent and kill yourself now." _It is a different voice this time.  
You place your hands over your ears, even though you know it's not going to help. Sometimes you wish you could reach into your skull and rip out the part of your brain that makes you hear those voices. Actually, you have tried it before, but someone always stops you as soon as you get anywhere close to your own head with a knife. You wish they would just fuck off. You know it will kill you, but you want to try it anyway, just to end your suffering and to rid the world of a worthless piece of shit like yourself.

A guard opens up the door to let you out for fresh air, but you don't move. Fresh air is the last thing you need. Even when you are in a good mood, you would greatly prefer to stay indoors. Your pale skin easily burns, your eyes are sensitive to light, and your seasonal allergies exist in all seasons. Today is a special exception, too. The voices almost quadrupled in volume overnight, putting you in an especially crappy mood. You would really like to avoid interaction with people today.

* * *

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you recognize that girl standing across the courtyard from you. The one with the wicked smile, wild brown hair, and prosthetic arm. You knew her a long time ago, before you got absorbed in your career, before your life started going downhill. Those were far better days, far simpler days. You miss them.

Barely thinking, you take off towards her. "Vriska!"  
She turns around, as if surprised to hear that someone knows her name.  
"Vriska, don't tell me they locked you here, too!"  
Her eyes widen once she sees your face. "T-Terezi?"  
"Hell yeah, Terezi." You give her a whopping hug, either not remembering or not caring about the "boundaries" she used to have when you were younger.  
She hugs you back, but then quickly pushes you away. "What are you doing here? I though you were gonna be some big-shot Judge Judy too busy to keep connections with old friends."  
You shrug, pretending to be shaken by what you did. "A lot can change in a matter of three years. What about you, why are you here."  
Vriska pretends to be extremely interested in the dirt by her shoes. "I've done some shit. They think I'm messed up in the head. That's really all you need to know."  
You shrug one more time, accepting the fact that she doesn't have to tell you if she doesn't want to. She did always seem just a bit violent, all too eager to fight. Why that landed her here you have no idea, but you do know that the two of you are not as close as you were in the old days. Even back then, you kept things from each other. Neither of you are inherently trusting people, and pain is the hardest thing to trust to someone else. You just wish she would tell you a bit more, so you can tell if further judgment is required. After all, justice comes first, friendship second. Maybe not even second, honestly you don't hold that high a value on it at the moment.


	16. Chapter 14

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you are not a sociopath. You have tried to explain this to doctor after doctor, that you didn't feel remorse at the time, but you do now. You've said it before and you'll say it a hundred times if necessary, you've done some shit you're not proud of. You're not about to deny the fact that you have killed, because you have. You are not going to deny the fact that at them time, you felt absolutely nothing but a strong determination to get the job done and over with, because it is true. But you will not say that you feel nothing now, that you do not have shame in your actions. You took many lives, and that is not something you are proud of. You wish you could give them all back, you really do. Images of their lifeless faces, visions of their funerals and their loved ones' tears haunt your dreams every night. You're pretty sure that's not the case with a sociopath.

Why no psychiatrist will ever listen to you, you have no idea. You had always assumed that was their job. But apparently the numbers matter more than the actual patients, because the numbers said all your test results came back positive. They had you here in almost no time. There was no time for them to run further tests, no time for them to listen to your pleas, no time for them to question you about the killings, about all your horrendous acts. If they took some time, maybe they would have learned that you hate yourself for all the things you've done, that you think it would be better to end it all and rid the world of another terrible evil. Maybe then they could give you some proper counselling, probably some anti-depressants too. Maybe they could have learned that the remorse came too late.

You find yourself wondering how many people this has happened to over the years, how many people were misdiagnosed and thrown into a place like this, a place where they didn't belong. Even now, you have no idea what Terezi is doing here. Sure, she might have always been a bit eccentric, off-centered in her thinking style, but never would you have guessed her to have a mental illness. She was too much of a big-shot, too much of a prodigy to be screwed up in the head. What could have possibly happened that would land her here? Maybe that's just the curse of the Scourge Sisters, misdiagnosis of serious mental diseases. You certainly hope she was misdiagnosed, and not that behind that grinning, ridiculous façade, a serial killer had been hiding. Okay, now you are making yourself uncomfortable, you have known the woman for almost half your life. Now you think you will be much more careful around her. You don't think there is any need for it, but you can't be too sure.

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you cannot believe what you are hearing.  
"Now it's only experimental, so there would be no guarantee-"  
"I don't care," you interrupt the psychologist.  
He sighs, folding his hands in his lap. "Miss Lalonde, I want you to understand that even if you do agree to this, the waiting list is incredibly long."  
"Did I stutter?" you say loudly, not bothering to hide the excitement in your voice. "I'll sign anything, just get me on the list for that drug!"  
"Very well." He hands you a formal-looking document, which you barely skim before signing.  
You smile to yourself as you scrawl out your name. You can't believe that you have been given a chance to rid yourself of them. Maybe you lost hope in the medical field too quickly. If they really can cure schizophrenia, if they really can take away this curse, you can start fresh. You can have a future, you can become a normal citizen again. It's been so long since you lived a civilian life...

The psychiatrist made you promise not to tell anyone, but you can't keep it from Kanaya. You've always had trouble keeping your word anyway, especially to people like him.  
"Rose, I don't know what to say..."  
"Well you should. They're finally going to go away, I can be normal again."  
She gently places her hand on yours. "You're not normal. That's just not who you are. And a drug that tries to make you that way... just doesn't seem right."  
"I don't care, as long as it frees me from them. If they go away I... I'll be less violent. I won't hear the whispers, I won't want to kill. You won't need to calm me down..." You pause to let what you just said sink in.  
"If they go away... you'll forget about me..."  
"Maybe I will," you say quietly. "But... maybe you could remind me..."  
She shakes her head at you. "You're still working with Egbert, right?"  
You nod, understanding where she is trying to go with this.  
"Then you know it's hard to remember the people you let go of."  
You gingerly rest your head upon her shoulder, afraid to cause her any more pain. "I just won't let go then... maybe of everyone else, but not you."  
"It's okay. If you have to let go, you have to let go."  
"But I don't have to."  
"Rose, this asylum is a horrible place. It will be best for your recovery if you try to forget it and all the people inside it.  
You do not often feel moved to tears, but if there ever has been a time when dangerous amounts of moisture have rimmed your eyes, it's now. You don't care if it will be harder for you if you try to remember the asylum. As depressing as it may seem, it has become your home, and it is the home of your first love. The home of what you hoped would be your only love, not because you gave up on it, but because it was strong enough to last.


	17. Chapter 15

Your name is Dave Strider, and you were so close. So close to leaving this place behind leaving it all behind you. It just had to come back when the doctors were almost convinced you had recovered. They thought you were cured, they thought they could let you back out into the world again, that you could live on your own. And the worst part is not knowing that they will forever doubt your ability to function as a normal part of society, but knowing that you doubt yourself. You have been able to gain some stability since your latest episode, but your can feel that you are not quite the same. That last breakdown took a toll on your mental state, one that you can tell cannot be easily recovered from. You don't think you'll ever leave, and you just need to accept that.

"Hey Cool Kid," an unfamiliar voice sounds from behind you.  
You turn around to see a girl with messy, shoulder-length, auburn hair, and milky white eyes. "You talkin' to me?"  
"No, I'm talking to the other douchebag in aviator shades currently being kept in a mental institution."  
You pause, wondering how she can tell what you're wearing. It is pretty obvious that she is blind. "How..."  
"Before you ask, yes, I am blind. But I have superhuman scent and hearing. And let me just say that you smell lovely this evening."  
"It's noon."  
"Close enough. Listen, I have a proposal for you."  
You try your hardest not to let your facial expressions not reveal your curiosity. "Not interested."  
"You will be. You see the chick with the fake arm?" She points across the yard towards a group of patients playing cards for cigarettes, unnoticed by any of the guards.  
You nod. "Yeah, that's Vriska."  
She lifts an eyebrow. "You know her?"  
"I know of her," you say. "She's been here even longer than I have."  
"Can you tell me what she's in for?"  
"Got anything to make it worth my while?"  
She removes a beaten-looking Walkman from the waistband of her scrubs.  
You glance at it and scrunch up your face. "What would I want with that?"  
She frowns, as if more disappointed by the fact you don't want the Walkman than the fact that she won't be getting any information about Vriska. "You can get cigarettes and toilet wine from pretty much anyone here. This is unique."  
You take a moment to consider this. A while ago, back when you were able to live on the outside, you made a point of listening to music often. There also appears to be a _Pink Floyd _cassette in it already, and last time you checked they weren't terrible.  
"Okay," you say slowly. "I've only heard rumors, but they say that she killed close to ten people, without any emotional response. Basically she's a sociopath."  
The bling girl grins. "Thanks for the info, Cool Kid," she says, handing you the Walkman. "This is gonna help me out a lot. I'm Terezi, by the way."  
"Dave," you say, taking the Walkman and slipping it into the waistband of your scrubs. "And no problem."

When you get back to your cell, you realize that was the first person outside of Rose, Jade, and John that you had spoken to in almost half a year. You guess this should probably be considered and accomplishment, but you brush that thought aside as you put your headphones on. You figure it's not exactly in your best interest to worry about socialization. You wouldn't be too opposed to talking to Terezi again, but if you don't you just don't. You already told her what she wanted to lnow anyway.

* * *

Your name is Jane Crocker, and you are visiting your best friend. Correction, you are in a mental hospital, desperately trying to get your best friend to calm down, while convincing nurses that she is doing just fine and doesn't need medical attention.  
"Roxy, listen to me. You are safe. The Batterwitch is not coming after you."  
"How would you know? I'm telling you, her agents are everywhere. There's no escape!"  
"This is just your imagination playing tricks on you again-"  
"Oh, that's what you always say. But look where I am now! I've fallen right into her clutches!"  
"Roxy, are you implying that Betty Crocker runs the mental hospital."  
"No way. I'm straight up telling you that the Batterwitch runs the mental hospital."  
"But these guards and nurses are here to help you, not to turn you over to some evil corporation."  
"That's what they want you to think! But the moment you leave, it's bye bye Roxy! That's why you have to take me with you!"  
"I'm not gonna do that."  
"Fine. But when I get torn from limb to limb we'll know whose fault it was."  
"That is not going to happen."  
"You see, that's the problem with everyone. They just assume that I'm insane. I'm not insane, I'm just painfully aware of man kind's current situation."  
You sigh, knowing that you'll just have to play along with her here. "Okay, I believe you. The thing is that if I take you out of this mental ward, the Batterwitch will incinerate us both."  
"Oh stop it. I know you don't believe me." She sighs. "And I guess you don't have to. Just please get me out of here."  
You feel your eyes brimming with tears, and the same is happening to Roxy. "I... I can't. Just trust me, okay? You need this."  
She opens her mouth to say something, then quickly closes it and instead nods her head. "Okay... just promise you'll visit."  
"Every week," you say, not positive if you can keep that promise.  
"Thank you," she whispers. And just like that, visiting hours are over and you are forced to leave you best friend. You hope she's going to be okay.

* * *

**I really have been trying to post regular update, it's just that school is highly uneventful, yet somehow time-consuming and surprisingly stressful. Just a head's up, I won't be posting on Friday, October 31st or Saturday November 1st. I feel like I should tell you that ahead of time so you don't get your hopes up about a new chapter only to be disappointed. In other news, there is no other news. I hope you all are doing great, and please leave a review expressing your thoughts. Criticism is _always _accepted.**


	18. Chapter 16

**I am extremely excited about this chapter, and I hope you will all be pleased by the events occurring at this point in the story. Quick disclaimer here: there is quite a bit of gore and other graphic content. I'm honestly not too sure if I went into too much detail with this or not. What? The promise of gore strikes your curiosity you say? Well that is splendid news! I won't keep much longer then. I just really quickly want to thank you all for the support you have given this fic. It really means a lot to me. If I could personally come over to your exact location right now and give you a giant bear hug, I would. But alas, I cannot, so this will have to do. *hugs* Stay fabulous, lovelies! **

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are trying to decide whether to dry swallow this pill and beg for more or drop it in the toilet, just like all the other medications they had been trying to give you. You got moved up on the waiting list for the new drug surprisingly quick, although it did take you about a month to get actually obtain the stuff. At the time, you had been extremely anxious, but now you are having your doubts. Angry at yourself for getting cold feet, you shove the pill in your mouth and choke it down. Not a pleasant experience.

You take a moment to fathom what has just happened. You are now one pill closer to being schizophrenia free. That is, given that it actually works. You begin to wonder if the horror-terrors will ever really go away. Is it just schizophrenia? You have always believed that they are real, that the reason you can see them is not because you have a mental illness. The only reason you wanted this drug at all is because you were desperate. Their whispers keep getting louder and louder, and more and more violent. If there is even the slightest possibility that a pill can take that away, you want to try it.

You are almost disappointed as the hours tick by and the horror-terrors are still as vivid as ever. You have to remind yourself that this was just your first dose. Why are you so anxious about this? Maybe because you feel it's the first chance you've gotten to finally be free. Free from the oppressive reign of the horror-terrors, the so-called illusions, over your own conscious being. You've always felt as if they were smug in the fact that they had, and still have, so much control over your life. Now is your chance to finally regain control, before it's too late. It's your life, it's your mind, and you would like to ask them to kindly fuck off, please.

* * *

Your name is Jade Harley and the guards have come to carry you off once again, for "proper education". Today, however, unlike most other days, they will not get very far. As you begin to walk, or really hobble, as you have a habit of doing, you find yourself overwhelmed with fear. You know perfectly well what they are about to do to you, so it is not the unknown from which this fear stems, but rather a dread of worse circumstances. It always seems to get worse. The guards are always more brutal. They keep you there for longer and longer each and every time. That's why you now decide that you are fed up with it all. You need to prevent, or at least delay, the horrid process. Out of a mixture of fear, rage, and need for rebellion, you leap out at the guard that is walking in front of you, biting his ankles and taking him to down to the floor. You are unable to use your arms, which are currently being held back by a strait jacket. Instead, you use your teeth, tearing at his neck as he screams in pain and the other guards try to restrain you. Their effort is useless, you are being fueled by true adrenalin. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot loosen your grip on his neck. The foul taste of blood pours into your mouth, at first oozing as a normal vein would, then in large, gushing squirts, as if you have punctured and artery. Today, you do not fight to wound. You do not fight for the fun of it. You have already decided that today is the day you fight to kill.

One of the other guards runs off to go get backup. You can feel your prey's pulse getting slower and slower, his flesh gradually growing colder. By the time backup arrives, he is dead. You feel an urge to celebrate. In your mind, you have successfully avoided capture. You have proved your strength, you have proved that you are a force to be reckoned with. They should be the ones fearing you now, for you have come out on top. Just as you think you have won, that maybe now they will let you go and be free, free from their oppressive hand and obsession with those things that are "human", you feel a needle enter you neck. You find yourself getting extremely sleepy extremely fast, and within a minute you are forced to relax your grip on the body. The world slowly fades into a nice, soothing blackness, and your energy quickly slips away and becomes sleep.


	19. Chapter 17

**Alright I have a couple quick announcements to make so listen up. I will not be able to update on October 31st or November 1st. I might post a little something right before 7-ish pm EST on the 31st, but other than that don't expect any new content. In addition, school, while being uneventful, still manages to be surprisingly stressful and time-consuming. If I seem to be gone for a few days, (unannounced, of course) you know what is to blame. But anyways, Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain in advance, and please don't get yourselves killed. Speaking of killing...**

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and for some reason you cannot get into the infirmary to see Jade. Your not sure what has happened to her, but you haven't seen her in days. You think Rose might know what happened, but for such a talkative person she doesn't have much to say on the matter. There are rumors floating around that she got pushed off the deep end, that she killed herself, or a doctor, or another patient. You want to say that you don't believe them, but then you'd be lying to yourself. Jade is usually the sweetest person alive, but you have always known that one day, someone will push her too far and she will decide that she has had enough of their bullshit. You just hope beyond all hopes that such a fateful day has yet to come.

Never have you wanted more to get away from this place, to run away and never look back. Somehow you always keep reminding yourself of how you had the opportunity to get out, but you blew it. If only you could have faked it for a little longer, put on your aviators, clenched your jaw and went about your normal life like you were ready to be part of society again. If only you could have kept your insanity under wraps a little while longer... But that's all old news now. You have come to realize all too late that once you enter St. Andrew's you're in for life. No matter how hard you struggle to be normal again, to live and blend in with normal people, there's no forgetting the madness. It is merely amplified by this environment.

You absent-mindedly rub your temples as you try to ignore the laughter bouncing through your skull. Most of the time, if you really concentrate, you can push it too the back of your brain, make it just another irrelevant noise. That method is not working so well today. Never has the laughter seemed clearer, never have you been less sure of the fact that it is merely an auditory illusion. Is it really? You have tried to force yourself to believe what all the doctors told you, that this sound in your head is pure fiction created by your own warped mind. You forced yourself to believe it, even though to you it is just as real as anything else. You guess that's why they call you crazy. As far as you are concerned, everyone hears things. Only the insane think that they are real.

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and as of this moment your top priority is to find out what happened to Jade. You have slipped out of your cell once again, and into that of one of the newer patients, a schizoaffective shut-in named Sollux Captor. You "accidentally overheard" a couple of the nurses mention the fact that Jade broke down an attacked a guard right outside of Captor's cell. However, as soon as you try to get any information out of the man, you realize that this quest of yours may be a bit more difficult than expected.

"Why doeth it matter what happened to her?" he whines, not even bothering to sit up.  
"Because she is one of may patients," you say for about the fiftieth time, "and I want to make sure she's safe."  
"Well the'th not. None of uth are. If I were you I would give up now. You're jutht wathting energy."  
"It's my energy and I'll spend it however I want, thank you very much."  
"I'm jutht trying to thave you from a pointleth exthithtanthe," he says, almost drenching you in spit.  
If this were a normal case, you would be as calm and collected as Strider pretends to be. However, today you are trying to save Jade. From what, you are not sure, but that's why you have to be extra curt with this guy.  
You take a deep breath. "Listen, Captor. You're going to tell me what happened to Jade, because I know you were there, and I know you saw it. All I want is an answer."  
He mutters something to himself, then sighs. "They thtuck her with thome thort of needle. Thhe pathed out and they carried her off. That'th all I know, tho whenever you feel like leaving go ahead and do that."  
"You have no idea where they took her?"  
Sollux gives you the death glare to end all death glares. "They went towarths the Wetht Wing. Now go away." He rolls back over on his cot.  
You frown. You're not sure you know what's in the West Wing, and you're not sure you want to know. If you were religious, all of your prayers would be going out to Jade. You assume there is a reason why they keep guards at either end of that hall, or that you can sometimes hears strange wails and laughter coming from it. She doesn't belong there, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. You whisper for Jade to hold tight, 'cause your coming for her.


	20. Chapter 18

Your name is Jade Harley, and you are scared. You don't know where you are, or why you are strapped down to a cot, or who these people in white masks are. If you had the energy, you would try to break free from the zip ties that are restraining you, but at the moment you find yourself completely drained. One of the men in white masks yells something at the others, and two of them begin to remove your restraints, only to wrestle you into a straight jacket. A woman with fuchsia eyes and thick, black hair gives you a sympathetic look as she slips some kind of muzzle over your mouth, now limiting the use of your teeth as well.

Much to your surprise, you are led out of the infirmary and into yet another part of the hospital that you are unfamiliar with. It seems even more neglected than the rest of the facility, reeking of blood, urine, and feces. There are no windows on the heavy, iron doors, but you can hear, through whispers and echoes, faint moaning resonating from almost every cell. In others, you can pick up on laughter and even human speech, though you have no idea what any of it means. A guard unlocks one of the cell doors and you are quite literally thrown into it, still clad in the strait jacket and muzzle. Eventually, they will become a part of you, as will these dirt-covered walls and dark, dank chambers. But for now you find yourself in uncharted territory, scared and alone, without the usual visit from Rose to calm you down. No one tries to speak to you, and if they did it would provide no comfort. This thought makes you snicker to yourself. The concept of comfort was lost to you long before just now. Comfort was being curled up with Bec, asleep in a dry cave with a belly full of meat. And now, comfort is long lost to you, not likely to be found again.

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and though it has been a week since you have last seen Jade, you cannot get any further leads on her whereabouts. This frustrates you beyond compare, though your think some of this emotion might be fueled by some of the angry side effects of your new pill. Come to think of it, you have been rather short with people, which, granted, you would have found acceptable had it not been for the fact that the drug still has barely done anything to help your schizophrenia. The horror-terrors still show themselves to you, they still talk to you. Oh look, there's one right now, approaching from just across the hall.

"_Why haven't you been listening to me, Rose?_" it asks, allowing its many mouth tentacles to flop around distractingly.  
"Because, Herbert, the last time I listened to you I killed my mother and got locked away for life," you say, rolling your eyes.  
_"You listen to my comrades."  
_"I _occasionally _take advice from Wendle. _Occasionally. _And _he _never tells me to stab anyone."  
_"He plans to. Will you listen to him then?"  
_"I believe that is my business," you say, attempting to turn your back on him.  
_"He is telling you lies. I am the one you should be listening to."  
_"Even when you tell me to stop looking for Jade? Because I'm sure as hell not about to do that."  
_"Hell is a human creation that has no meaning to an omniscient being such as my self."  
_"There you go, gloating again. This is why I don't listen to you, you're kind of a douche."  
_"Douches are human crea-"  
_"Oh, shut up," you say, throwing a pillow at him. As usual, it goes straight through him, giving you even more reason to believe that your really are insane.  
_"I know enough about the female gender to know that you are currently menstruating. I shall leave you to this embossing business." _With that, he leaves you alone in your cell, even more frustrated and clearly not menstruating.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are absent-mindedly fingering your dirty scrubs. For years, proper clothing has been long out of your reach. It is just another luxury of the outside world, able to be grasped only by the lucky, who have never had to watch their guardian die, or the brave, who were able to protect him. You are neither of those things, as the terrible laughing in your skull constantly reminds you. Terrible... yet in some twisted way, infectious. Was your pain really so amusing as to cause such great laughter from Jack? Maybe all this time you have been missing out on a wonderful joke...

It is not a menacing laugh. More of a chuckle, with a bit of snorting here and there. One might even call it dorky. Still, whenever you hear it, it brings back images of Bro's mangled body... my, isn't he a sight for sore eyes? You and Jack both chuckle at this joke. For as long as you've been living with him, you had no idea he had such a great sense of humor. You try out a couple more jokes, and sure enough he just laughs louder and louder at each one. Why was it that you wanted to get rid of him again? Just because he reminded you of some silly corpse? That doesn't sound like you. You apologize to Jack for being such an unfunny motherfucker about this whole situation, and welcome him to stay as long as he likes. His laughter is no longer something you feel you must drive away, but something you choose to embrace. In a way, it has become part of you, blended with your better interests, and though it took some time, it made you lighten up a great deal. You spend at least the next half hour laughing hysterically in your cell, pleased with your new friendship.


	21. Chapter 19

**Hey check it out. I'm finally writing this again. I am so sorry about the delay, but I've been working on some other writings, including a novel that I am _so excited about._ In addition, school. But the important thing is that after over two months, I have finally gotten around to picking this back up. Happy New Year by the way. Okay, I won't keep you any longer, I just wanted to apologize for the enormously long and inexplicable wait after a period of updating nearly every day.**

* * *

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and you are beyond concerned for your girlfriend. Ever since she started on that medication, she hasn't been herself. Her hallucinations aren't seeming to get better. She now spends almost every waking moment in her room (or rather cell) trying to drive away auditory illusions and violent impulses. The doctors have no idea what is going on. The drug worked extremely well on all the other patients, with few side-effects. This causes you to stay up at night, worried about her safety. Still, you don't visit her, even though you want nothing more than to grab ahold of her and never let go. But you know she needs her space, just a little time to think and catch her breathe so she can maybe find the light.

You are soon surprised to find Rose in your cell, though not wanting to talk. You see it as a big step for her, and you have to restrain yourself from hugging her tight.  
"Kanaya..." she whispers.  
You can feel your eyes light up at the sound of her voice. "Yes. Y-yes Rose. It's me."  
"Kanaya I... I'm a liar..."  
"Shh. No you're not. Who told you that?"  
"I know I lied. I shouldn't be taking these pills," she says, her voice cracking as tears fill her eyes.  
"Yes you should. They're going to make you better, Rose."  
She shakes her head violently. "I used to drink. A lot. But the doctor doesn't..."  
Her words hit you like a brick. She had lied to the doctors, and they gave her drugs.  
The tears flow more freely now, as you realize this is the first time you have seen her cry. "I was ready to tell any lie possible if only..." she trails off as she wraps her arms around you and buries her head in your chest.  
"I know," you say, slowly rocking her back and forth. "It's okay."

As you hold her in your arms, her crying starts to subside, and her breathing becomes slower and slower. And then it stops. She is no longer moving, and her heartbeat is becoming fainter and fainter. You panic. Your shout rings out through the entire asylum, your desperate call for assistance. Soon enough nurses rush in and carry her off, and you fight guards off in order to follow them. You refuse to leave her side as they take her into the infirmary and hook her up to a variety of machinery. You watch as the doctors try to restart her heart again and again. Time passes and she is still unresponsive. And although you know she is already long gone, you scream at the nurses as they record the time of death and pack up their equipment. You kick and thrash as they try to restrain you, tears running down your cheeks and mixing with Rose's, which are not quite dry yet. And with a watery view you watch the love of your life fade out of your sight, still with her mangy hair and favorite black lipstick smudged slightly across her soft lips. You didn't get to say goodbye, and you weren't in time to help her. You feel just as responsible as the drug for her death. Maybe if you would have noticed sooner, you could have helped her. Maybe if you spent more time with her, didn't give her the distance that she insisted upon, she would still be alive.

They take you back to your cell, and you have stopped fighting their grip by the time you arrive. It's a miracle that you can even make your feet carry you to your bed, where you remain for heaven knows how long, trying to avoid the pain by keeping your mind off Rose.

* * *

Your name is Jade Harley, and it has only been a week since your relocation. But it feels like twenty years. You can barely remember the faces of your friends, or what their voices sound like, or the last time you've seen them. You want nothing more than for Dave to play fetch with you, for John to scratch you behind the ears, or for Rose to rub your stomach the way you love. The guy in the cell next to yours tends to breathe very heavily, even enough for the sound of it to penetrate the metal walls. In a place that otherwise would be complete silence, it keeps you up at night. It doesn't help your sanity that you haven't seen the light of day since you came here. You can feel the lack of fresh air and exercise slowly killing you. How are you supposed to live like this, confined to a tiny cell, with food passed in to you through a tiny opening. They don't fully understand your needs, that you were literally raised outdoors and by keeping you inside they were just worsening your mental state. Hadn't any of them owned dogs before? Hell, had any of them been around humans before? Don't they know what this isolation is doing to you, doing to the heavy-breather in the cell beside yours? You slowly grow accustomed to it. You synchronize your breath with his, just for something to do. Rhythmically counting every day somehow keeps you from trying to eat your own face.


	22. Chapter 20

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and it gets harder to breath every day. Every day you spend on dry land, every day you spend in this dreaded asylum, confined and waterless. You doubt this absurd form of torture is legal, pulling someone with gills out of the water and hospitalizing them. You only gave them the truth when they asked you why you "attempted to drown yourself" and then they threw you in this jail cell. It doesn't make sense.

That girl in the cell beside yours is whimpering again. She sounds like a lost puppy. An annoying lost puppy.  
"Hey," you yell at her, "W-would you mind shutting up?"  
She ignores you and continues her whimpering.  
You sigh angrily. "I know-w you heard me."  
She is silent for a moment, but then begins to speak in a quiet, gruff voice. "I'm... Jade."  
"That's great."  
"Name... please?" She doesn't seem to know much English.  
You raise an eyebrow, forgetting for a moment that she can't see you. "Are you flirtin' w-with me?"  
"Name..."  
You giggle. "W-well if you insist... I'm Eridan."  
"F-friends...?"  
"Hm... yes I guess that w-would be alright for now. Not that I w-would w-wanna romance w-with you anyw-ways. Unless you w-would be cool w-with that..."  
"Friends..."  
"Fine. W-whatever."  
There is an awkward silence as you let the disappointment of an immediate rejection sink in.  
"So..." you begin, breaking the silence, "w-what landed you here?"  
"Not... not my fault..." she says, even quieter than before. You can hear the disappointment in her voice.  
"Same here. But they just w-won't believe you?"  
"Yeah..."  
You take a moment to think about what to say next. Do you really want to tell her? Maybe if you told her it would make her find you more attractive...  
"Don't tell anyone but... I'we been workin' on somethin' that could get us both out of here."  
"Not going to... to work. Guards everywhere... and you... idiot."  
You cannot believe your ears. "W-well fine then. I don't hawe to break you out."  
"Sorry... please tell..."  
You've really caught her attention now. Just a little more sweet talking and you'll be making out just beyond the asylum gates.  
"That's w-what I like to hear. Now-w its not all planned out yet... but it inwolwes killing all the asylum staff. A mass genocide of mental hospital w-workers. That w-way no one w-will be around to stop us."  
There is a long pause before she responds. "That is it? Stupid... idea."  
This offends you even more. "Yeah?" you snap, "w-well like you could come up w-with anything better!"  
"Two of us... not enough..."  
"And do you know-w anyone w-who would be w-willing to help?"  
"Friends... miss them... still not enough."  
"C'mon. It's not like you're w-weak. I know-w you almost killed that guard. If he w-were alone you could hawe easily bitten his face off."  
"No... not true. Accident...lost temper."  
You sigh. "I don't think so. I think you hate him."  
She hesitates. "Maybe... but no more kill..."  
"It's the only w-way."  
"Bullshit. You... idiot."  
That was the least straw. "Fine! Be that w-way!" you snap. That is the last you will talk to her for a few hours.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert and your therapist is dead. You can't believe you're calling her that, but really she helped you more than the actual therapists did. And now you have no idea what to do now that she's gone. It's not like you can treat yourself. Dave seems to be having the same predicament. He barely spoke the few days after Rose died, and this morning he told you that he is starting to hear the laughing again. Jade is still in that unknown part of the asylum, and there's no way she could even know that Rose is gone. You think you remember Vriska saying that she had been locked up there in the past, and you attempt to pick her brain over breakfast.

"Heeeeeeeey there Vriska," you begin, with endless amounts of smoothness.  
"Heeeeeeeey John. What's up?"  
"Oh you know same old same old. Hey, didn't you say you used to have a cell in the high-security wing or whatever?"  
She sighs. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I would rather gouge my eyeballs out with a spoon than talk to you about that."  
"Okay, okay, I can take a hint. But here's the thing. I need to know. Jade's safety depends on it."  
"What are you gonna do, Egbert? Bust her out?" she says, laughing.  
Your facial expression doesn't change.  
"Oh my god don't tell me you're thinking of busting her out."  
"Well..."  
"Look, I need you to drop that idea right now. It won't work for a cold-blooded killer with actual fighting skills, and it definitely won't work for you."  
"Yeah but there's a much higher chance of it working for that cold-blooded character, and if I remember correctly Dave said something about Terezi's investigation."  
"Oh god don't tell me..."  
"She discovered something very interesting about you."  
"She's very good at that isn't she."  
"You're no amateur at fighting Vriska."  
"That doesn't mean I'm going on this crackpot suicide mission of yours."  
"Aw c'mon."  
"Listen," she says, standing up, "Jade will survive. She has food and water and a roof over her head. Trying to save her will just put her in more danger." With that said, she turns around and walks off, leaving you to wallow in your failure.


	23. Chapter 21

**Guess who's back**

* * *

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and word of your cousin's death has gotten around the asylum faster than a wildfire in drought-ridden California. They say it was a pill that got her, but that seems like a lie to you. You figure it has to be Betty Crocker, seeing as you are one of the few who know her secret, and Rose was one of your few living relatives. You still remember the days the two of you spent at your grandmother's home in snowy upstate New York, when she was five and you were seven, and neither of you were yet insane. Before the plague of alcoholism carried by both of your families could even get a chance to touch you. You both liked cats and lipstick and a certain style of humor, and the olives your grandmother used to put in her martinis. Your only thought now is to brush off those memories, because there is no point in imagining that things are fine when they haven't been that way since you were seven and Rose was five.

You are unsuccessful in repressing memories of snowy upstate New York, and these memories lead to new ones, like when you were twelve and you had a crush on a boy in your grade who smelled like citrus. That was back when you still knew what it was like to feel that certain butterfly feeling associated with young love. Back when you knew things were real and you knew it was him you were talking to, and you could open up to him, even if it meant rejection.

Rejection reminds you of your freshman year of college, mere months before the disease and the downfall of your life, when you were confused but not yet detached. You kissed your best friend in your dorm, you admitted you loved her and that you were scared. She understood. She took your kiss and returned it with passion, but your love she let lay in its box because she was looking for someone else to give his to her, someone who reminded you of the boy from when you were twelve, whose hair smelled like citrus and whose love you soon realized no woman would receive.

Thinking about all this frightens you because you are not sure how much is real. All of it seems like a dream you have just woken up from, a dream so deceitful it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, and even then it's hard to know which parts you dreamt and what your life is really like. So you no longer trust the five year old in upstate New York, or the boy who smelled like citrus, or the girl who let your love sit in its box waiting for another.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and it feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. Your are currently doing something which scares you a great deal, though you know it is perfectly achievable since Rose did it time and time again. You have sneaked out of your room and begun to wander the halls in search of the hospital's mysterious records, being sure to stay out of sight of medical staff on break. Your bare feet make the slightest shuffling sound as your scurry rat-like down the halls, evading wet spots and cockroaches.

You don't know where you're headed, or what you expect to accomplish, or why the nursing staff's second-hand smoke tastes so bad on your lips, but so good in your lungs that you linger dangerously close for far too long. You hardly know anything, just as you knew jack squat when you came here and will walk away without learning a thing. But somehow Rose always knew things. She knew the lay out of the asylum like the back of her hand, she knew everyone's file forwards and backwards, she knew that the therapy here never works, and knew how to treat people the way they deserved to be treated. That's why you're doing what she would have done, not necessarily in a time of crisis but on a normal Tuesday evening.

You freeze up as you hear the loud chatter and footsteps of nurses approaching from just behind you. Your mind quickly and effortlessly abandons the task at hand, and instead decides that you should run, making a mad dash and rounding the corner. To your surprise you find yourself in a very long hallway full of doors with actual labels, unlike your cell doors.  
"Breakroom... Warden's Office... Pharmaceuticals..." you mutter aloud, until finally, "Aha! Patient Records."  
You linger one more instant to get just another whiff of smoke before plunging into the (thankfully unlocked) room.

Immediately you are blown away by the sheer amount of filing cabinets. Rows upon rows of cabinets lined up floor to ceiling, which when opened are all stuffed full of information. How could Rose possibly have sorted through all of this? More importantly, if this is how many people attend the asylum, how big is this building? How many of these people are in the same wing as Jade, how many of them know where she is? Overwhelmed, you try and think of where to begin searching. What are you even trying to figure out? You wander aimlessly through make-shift halls of metal drawers, trying to take in just the letters on each cabinet. Your head is a mess until you came to the "L" section where you notice a folder poking through one of the drawers. Hands trembling, you slide the drawer open and pull out the folder, which is fat with lop-sided and slightly crumbled papers. You know whose it is before even reading the label.


End file.
